Always the Little Things
by scullyseviltwin
Summary: She didn't know what she thought would change. PostBartlet admin.


_Thank you to Michelle, aka gabesaunt for the post-House beta._

-X-

She didn't know what she thought would change. The only thing truly stirring up their mix was that they now shared a bed and sometimes sought out comfort in the other's body. He never spooned her and she never fell to sleep with her ear laid carefully over his heart. And it wasn't that she didn't want to; they just didn't.

It wasn't how things ever seemed to work out for them. She would arrive at home before he did and she'd fix a quick dinner and stick it in the refrigerator instead of the oven (she was always apprehensive, leaving the oven on) and she'd fall to sleep on the couch with MSNBC as a jaded lullaby. When he would stumble through the door he'd pull out a beer, run it over his forehead and then fall into a kitchen chair and devour the meager feast.

Josh wasn't the type of man to meander over to the couch and kiss her on the forehead before finding his way to the bedroom. He wasn't the type of man to wake her slowly with gentle kisses on her neck, urging her to come to bed. She hated waking up alone but she did it because she knew that he hated waking up tangled in her.

Making coffee was always her first order of business and he'd stop long enough to drop a quick peck on her lips before making his way to the living room to shove her sleeping paraphernalia away, flipping through various political commentators until she dutifully brought him his coffee. She did it because it made him smile; she did it because it was something new to do. They'd sit on the couch, side-by-side watching the news ticker carrying a brief part of their lives away.

The White House kept their blood pumping hard, harder than it pumped when he was inside of her when she was on top. Their steps were quicker, wits sharper... everything mattered more. And sometimes they'd pass by each other in the hall and smile a little smile and keep right on going because they were a couple now, no point in flirting or tossing around the banter. There was no need.

And he'd come home and eat dinner, and she'd workout and maybe if they weren't too tired they'd have sex in the shower and fall hard into bed afterwards. The day would begin again and the routine would rewind to play once again and neither would bother to notice that they had stopped existing within the other's sphere.

Anniversary number one, Valentine's Day, a strange Hanukkah/Christmas and long weekends came and went though both were stuck behind their desks, hidden by files and other's agendas. She lost weight and he got an ulcer and they paid the mutual bills and said their goodnights and forgot why they had moved in together in the first place.

Donna wore his ring and soon enough it became a casual weight on her finger, one that he didn't comment on and she forgot to acknowledge. A Lyman family heirloom, she didn't even realize when it fell down the sink drain. Upon realizing that it was missing the next morning she took a wrench to the u-bend while sobbing, getting brown sink gunk all over herself and the floor.

And that was how he found her, clutching the dirty thing between dirtier fingers, crying her eyes out. His first instinct was to run, but the pulling of his heartstrings kept him in the doorway, watching as she pushed the tears, leaving brown streaks over her porcelain cheeks. It took long minutes for him to work up the courage to sink to his knees beside her.

"I almost lost it," she whispered, holding the trinket up to the light.

Josh blinked and sat, pulling her into his arms, managing to begin a gentle, rocking rhythm. In her small fist, she clutched the metal. "But you didn't lose it," he said eventually, his voice sounding far too loud, bouncing off the tiled walls of the bathroom.

Her head shook against his neck, "No," she finally squeaked out. Opening her hand, she brought it up in front of her and waited until he opened his hand. The little thing rolled off of her palm into his. "Maybe you should take this back..."

"Donna..."

She cried harder, pulling away from him, she settled herself on the cool wall beside the toilet. Legs sprawled out in front of him on the bathroom floor, Joshua Lyman watched in shock as his world began to unravel right before his eyes. The perpetual drip-drip-drop of the tub faucet was loud in his ears, setting up a rhythm that drowned out her despair.

The ring clinked to the floor as his hand went slack at his side; with his last ounce of strength he pushed himself to the opposite wall, head lolling back against the oversized, green ceramic. "Donna..." he began after some time, voice cracking like it hadn't since the sixth grade, "I-"

"We're just... did we just fall into this? We're just roommates Josh, just... just..."

Drip, drip, drip-drop.

"You can't... do this..." he choked out, eyes closed. He wanted to tell her everything, wanted to tell her that she was the only woman he had ever really loved, wanted to tell her that he didn't see much of a future without her in it. Most of all, he wanted to tell her that he'd fucked up, fucked up royally and wanted to know how to fix it all.

Donna wanted to let her head fall into her hands but instead, she focused on the shiny piece of jewelry that used to adorn her finger grace the floor. "Maybe this wasn't supposed to happen, after all those years, maybe-"

His eyes snapped open. "I love you, and I don't tell you that enough, not nearly enough and I love you."

Tired, sapped of most of her strength, her head rolled from one side of her shoulders to the other. "What does that even... Josh..."

He stood up, wiping his hands on his slacks and pulling the untied tie from around his neck, tossing it into the tub. Right hand men were supposed to be right hand men and at the very least they were supposed to be men, and so he walked out to the bedroom and picked up the cordless, told Sam that he would be very late or not in at all.

After hanging up the phone he returned to the bathroom and to the cold floor but this time beside her. "I want you to wear my ring," he whispered, staring at the opposite wall just as she was. "I want you to wear it... forever."

A strange sound, that of her laughing, broke through the sounds of plumbing and that of his breathing to resonate in his ears. "Josh, I-"

Lips on hers, pressing her back into the side of the sink, her dirty hands on his face, pushing him off and pulling him closer. Desperation seeped through his lips and he clawed at her back, gripping her harder than he'd ever felt he'd needed to before. Trying to pull away she curled her nails into his neck but he kept kissing, kept kissing until she felt new moisture run between their cheeks.

He was crying too and somehow, that made all the difference.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, the dirty ring made its way back onto her finger and she didn't question the weight and they spent the day in bed watching James Bond movies.

Monday was three days away and neither of them cared to speculate on what would happen then.


End file.
